Page 7 of One Bad Knight
I’d thrown on my ripped jeans and my favorite band tee, both already covered in paint splatters. I’d pulled my dark brown hair up into a messy bun, and hadn’t even bothered to wash my face. Funny how I was the only thing that looked out of place in this room, considering it was my house. My uncle and cousins had moved in after my dad died, but they fit the traditional aesthetic far better than me.
Like my father, they were dark-haired with pale skin and red undertones. My mother was a mix of African, white, and East Indian heritage, with coffee-colored skin, while mine was a lighter, golden brown.
My uncle’s supporters always rushed to tell me how exotic my looks were, as if they were trying to show how cool they were. But I was born and raised in Denver, Colorado, and the most exotic thing about me was my taste in cuisine because I’d try almost anything from anywhere.
Realizing my uncle and I were going to have a conversation, Dave got up and excused himself to the next room to continue his call.
My uncle rested his elbows on the table to interlace his fingers. Gray crept in at his temples and was fast traveling upward, but he wouldn’t let me dye it. I noticed, not for the first time, the wide bridge of his nose. I’d tried to draw it many times, but I always got the bump wrong.
“We need to talk about your birthday, Katherine.”
A sinking sensation slid down my stomach. I sipped on my favorite roast, but it only added acid to the unsettling mix in my tummy.
“It’s your twenty-third birthday, and I think it’s appropriate we mark the occasion appropriately.”
“A party,” Gabe said next to me, not looking up from the article he was reading. “Dad is talking about a party.”
My gut churned harder. “Don’t we already have a party or gala every single night this week for your campaign?” This week was already going to be insanely busy. Even just thinking about how much pointless, overly polite small talk was in my future made me want to crawl back into bed.
And I didn’t want another party, not even for myself. Every year on my birthday, I did my best to keep my head down and get through to the next day as fast as possible. If anyone found out and got me a cake or a present, I had to paint on a smile, and pretend I enjoyed the attention and celebration.
While I wasn’t thrilled about the barrage of events this week, at least they weren’t focused on me.
“Yes, but a party celebrating your future plans would not only help me, it would be a great marker for your future,” my uncle said, watching me carefully.
“With my luck, it would be a disaster,” I said with a nervous laugh, pushing my cup away. “Every time I get on my phone, I see videos of big parties being stomped out by some hell demon or swarmed by evil ghosts.”
Over a year ago, a hell mouth opened in the mountains, releasing all kinds of demonic creatures and evil spirits.
It didn’t seem real at first, especially not in our gated neighborhood where security walked the streets and kept things locked down. But I’ll never forget the day I was driving in another town to shop for brushes and watched a mass of mottled black demons fly by, causing the people in the streets to run into a panic. One grabbed a woman right off the streets in front of me. I’ll never forget the look of terror in her eyes.
I abandoned my trip for art supplies and my hands hadn’t stopped shaking for two days.
Like everyone else, I’d wondered if the world was ending.
But life went on. It always went on. However unjust or unlikely, it did.
Uncle John interrupted my disturbing memory. “All the more reason why we should try to promote a sense of celebration and joy around this time.”
“You know you are going to win this election, right, Uncle John?” I asked with a cheeky grin.
“Indeed,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “This week there will be several events for our more financially supportive voters to come meet and mingle. Can I count on you to show up and support?”
I hated when he used his politician’s voice on me, but I nodded as I sipped more of the French press. This was important to him. And if my dad were alive, it would be him running for re-election right now, no doubt. I owed it to my father and to my uncle to be there.
“He wants you to go with Jimi,” Gabe interrupted again without looking up.
My uncle shot my cousin a sharp glance, then it softened as he looked at me. “I know you two are enjoying a casual spring fling, but it would speak well to the press to have two such politically powerful families aligned.” My cheeks flushed, but he went on before I could respond. “And then there is the matter of our agreement.”
My stomach dropped, and I picked up the apple again, tossing it back and forth between my hands.
“You know I’m very proud of you for getting your economics degree,” he said.
I kept my face carefully blank. I’d done it, but I hated every minute of it. If I hadn’t been able to take every artistic elective I could to balance out the drudgery, I wouldn’t have made it. I tossed the apple faster.
He went on. “And I gave you the last several months off to play artist, but it’s time to start submitting to the law programs like we agreed.” My uncle reached out and covered my hands, stilling my movements. “I really think you’d enjoy Harvard. The East Coast has some of the best country clubs, and you have a lot of friends out there.”
A lot ofhisfriends lived out there, but I didn’t bother to correct him. I knew he only wanted the best for me.